


Never Mindless, Self-Indulgence

by blind_bombshell



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Berlin (City), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Nazis, Pining, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Queer History, Self-Indulgent, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25433977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blind_bombshell/pseuds/blind_bombshell
Summary: Takes place during the Victorian era when Aziraphale was offered a promotion by the Almighty, just after opening his bookshop, and they simply cannot bear to leave Earth. Crowley helps.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 14





	Never Mindless, Self-Indulgence

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just fluff, based on a deleted scene I heard about once and promptly forgot about. I wrote this in about six hours when I was supposed to be working on another fic, feel free to come at me with mallets. Be forewarned there is a copioius amount of italics, parantheses, and details regarding angel hierarchy - I'm a complete autodidact and find angelic dogma fascinating. Also there's a flashforward to Nazis that made sense to me when I wrote it. I had wanted to do the asterisks thing, hence the italics, but I couldn't figure it out.

In the beginning, Aziraphale  _ (initially known as Az-ear-raf-AE-el, but, as these things happen, as Crowley had, after performing a miracle for the Arrangement, panicking, had claimed to be the angel Raphael - of course there **was** no angel Raohael, that was simply the latter part of Aziraphael’s name, and once he was alerted to the situation, he reflexively changed the pronunciation in order to avoid all suspicion and, well, it rather stuck, didn’t it?) _ was a cherubim - modern English has, as the reader may very well be aware, long since associated with this class of angels the putti - which are baby/toddler-like beings used in figurative art. St. Thomas of Aquinas once theorized that Satan, himself, was a member of the cherubim - which was absurd. He was obviously a member of the Seraphim - the burning ones, the serpentine. This, coincidentally, was also the rank of Crowley. In fact, most Seraphim, as they all knew one another, were Fallen. This was less to do with dissention and more to do with God’s then more stringent ideas -- if you’re not with us, they reasoned, you’re against us. So, rather than allowing a reconciliation, They, in Their Divine Wisdom, instead separated the factions. If you are unhappy, you are welcome to leave. -  _ A stance, it should be mentioned, God still feels very strongly about, though They have yet to comment about the Day the Angels Fell, most likely something ineffable we aren’t meant to know or couldn’t understand.  _

In any event, after the whole kerfuffle about the “misplacement” of the sword of fire  _ (or, more accurately, Aziraphale lying about it to God, who, it should be mentioned, detests lying above all else - except in matters of personal concern and kindness) _ God demoted Aziraphale (which was terribly embarrassing) to a Principality. For those of you unaware, Cherubim are of the First Sphere of Influence to God; Principalities? Third Sphere. It was quite the demotion. There were whispers and plenty of insinuations, but no one dared question the Will of God - at least, not when they thought they could be heard. Principalities are meant to oversee specific groups of people and bring blessings upon them. They also, as you may have gathered, are said to guard the Earth, educate and inspire humanity to be better than they may have been. 

Principalities, as a whole, are seen as trite by the upper spheres of the angelic echelon, mostly because humanity’s progress has come quite far in their eyes - at least, technologically. The principality in charge of inspiring that sort of industrial progress may have been a little overzealous, but it’s quite understandable to see where Good Intentions may have laid the roads, as it were, for abuse and corruption. Where one sees a way to never be lost, another sees a way to know exactly where you are at all times. A door, once opened, swings both ways. 

The only other being to have such a demotion was, as far as Aziraphale was aware, was Beelzebub - Hell’s representative at Armageddon. This was largely due to the fact that people, being people, often crossed their wires when it came to certain religious figures. Just as Eoster and Ostara became Easter, so did Baazebub, Ekron’s god, who kept flies away from sacrifices and Beelzeboul, the Demon known for instigating wars, inventor of jealousy, propogator of murder, and the one who, in a brilliant ‘turn-about is fair play’ tete-a-tete regarding saints, manages to get demons worshipped. The amalgamation of the two was infamously unpleasant, but at the end of the day, they had a combination of the two disparate beings’ powers and was a Prince of Hell. 

Honestly, it was though everyone had gotten a promotion throughout the ages, except Aziraphale. Well, that had a very good reason. They were, in actuality offered a very nice promotion with excellent benefits and his very own Principality, and a scion of angels, to oversee. Of course, “his” Principality in question would specialize in another section of Humanity, and an archangel, perhaps Joel, named as his replacement. Few things were as shocking to Aziraphale so close to the opening of his shop.

Gabriel, and Sandalphone, dressed to the nines as Regency dandies had been the first surprise and, after that, it was a  _ barrage  _ of shocks to the system and he was quite nearly beside himself attempting to glom onto what, exactly, Gabriel was getting at - and what Sandalphon could possibly be looking so smug about.

Aziraphale didn’t like the idea of training up some random angel to replace him. In fact, he didn’t enjoy the idea of someone else in  _ his _ bookshop, in  _ his _ apartments - which he just gotten how he liked them - working with  _ his _ humans… who would care for them the way that he did? All of this, of course, paled in comparison with the idea of LOSING HIS BOOKS. He knew the Lord was testing him and he also decided, very quickly, he didn’t care for it.

Gabriel brandished a medal in a box, obviously waiting for the shoe to drop and Aziraphale to “wake up” and realize what they were offering - what God had decided was best - what literally any other being would be delighted to be receiving. Aziraphale was finally being welcomed back into the fold, given his previous station and every good thing wherein. A _real_ _chance_ to make change! At least, that’s what Gabriel saw. 

Aziraphale’s mouth twisted in a moue of disappointment. “I don’t want a metal.”

Gabriel was unfazed, used to the self-sacrificing and self-deprecation of others, “Well, that’s very noble of you.”

So while Gabriel and Sandalphon couldn’t quite wrap their minds around anyone staying on Earth, Aziraphale couldn’t quite wrap his mind around being literally anywhere else. Perhaps in a few decades, millenia, once the world had been salted and rendered inert could he imagine leaving -- but as it was? He just couldn’t  _ leave,  _ but how could he --

And that’s when he noticed Crowley just outside the door, looking chipper as ever in a new velvet-trimmed, burgundy brocade tailcoat, holding a package and waving cheerily as he approached. 

“But, uh,” Aziraphale silently sent a thankful prayer to Heaven that Gabriel and Sandalphon hadn’t noticed the demon’s approach, “That is to say, I, uh.. But only  _ I _ can properly  _ thwart  _ the wiles of the demon, Crowley.”

Crowley stopped short, just outside of the shop, and frowned. He pointed to the box, meaningfully mouthing “ _ chocolates _ ”. 

Gabriel chuckled. “I do not doubt that whomever replaces you will be just as good an enemy to Crowley as you are. Michael, perhaps, or as I mentioned, Joel.”

Crowley looked affronted.  _ ‘Michael?” he mouthed emphatically, “Michael’s a  _ **_wanker_ ** _!’  _

Aziraphale began to sweat, most unseemly, attempting valiantly to appear nonplussed, “Crowley’s been down here just as long as I have. And he’s, oh, he is  _ wiley.  _ And  _ cunning,”  _ Gabriel and Sandalphon blinked slowly, nearly synchronized in their bored disbelief that this was the hill Aziraphale had chosen as his battlefield to stay on Earth - WITHOUT a promotion and all the comforts of the top office! “And! He’s brilliant! Truly! And oh --” 

“Sounds almost like you like him,” Gabriel intoned darkly, a sardonic twist to his lips as he leant forward into Aziraphale’s space. Aziraphale fought the urge to step back and, instead, feigned shock and offense.

“I  _ loathe _ him,” he said, making direct eye contact with Crowley, who, for his part, looked just about ready to burst into peals of laughter. Well, at least he wasn’t angry and it didn’t feel far from the truth in this moment, “And, despite myself, I respect a worthy opponent.” Aziraphale resisted the urge to roll his eyes and made meaningful eye contact, instead, with Gabriel and Sandalphon. “Which he isn’t, of course, because he’s a demon and I cannot respect a demon... Or  _ like _ one.”

Gabriel clapped his shoulder like they were old friends. “ _ That’s _ the attitude I like to hear. You’ll be an asset back at head office, I can tell you that.” Gabriel proudly put the medal around Aziraphale’s neck with the most aplomb and ceremony, it felt almost mocking.

Shortly after, Gabriel and Sandalphon left him to his own devices so that they could visit Gabriel’s tailor before returning to the Office, and Aziraphale felt quite at a loss. He decided the best use of his time would be to write a letter to his successor, detailing all the things that would need to be done in his absence. 

Instead, he found himself writing a letter to Crowley. “ -- and don’t forget to eat once in a while. I know you’re serpentine, darling, but you must’nt deny yourself for the sake of corsetry. If you eat too much at once you’ll make yourself sick, you know you do. And help yourself to the wine cellar, of course, the key is behind the Voltaire. Which reminds me, please do look after my first editions. Even now, I cannot bear to be parted from them - “ a single tear escaped from his eyes and landed on the paper, smearing the ink and spreading it out in branches, not unlike roots or snowflake form on the windowsill. It would be winter soon, now, and everything will be covered in a lovely clean blanket of white turning London, ever for such a moment before someone carelessly ploughed through on their way to some such or another, turning it sludge from pristine and glorious. 

Aziraphale wouldn’t see the snow, possibly ever again, unless he was sent on a momentary assignment - not unlike Gabriel and Sandalphon were on, now.

His heart felt as though it was shattered, his stomach churned and his throat  _ burned _ with all of the things he had left unsaid choking him like clotted salt in the back of his throat. He struggled to breathe - despite being an angel and not technically needing to.

Quite suddenly, his front door whipped open, Gabriel strode in like Sir Phillip Harclay upon his triumphant return to the estate just before he learned of the death of his dear friend, Sir Lovel.  _ (Aziraphale would never admit it aloud, but Clara Reeve was the epitome of Gothic romance and the overwrought twining tale of Edmund and Emma was amongst his favourites) _ . Gabriel strode over to him, the righteous strength of the Almighty making him shine ever so slightly in the dimming evening light as he pulled himself even taller and broader than should have been possible. “Change of plans. We need you here, in your bookshop, battling evil. As only you can.”

Aziraphale gaped, covering his mouth belatedly, he realized, with a ink-covered hand. “Do you mean -- I’m not going anywhere?”

Sandalphon, who had been following in Gabriel’s wake unnoticed, punched Aziraphale in the arm in a sign of camaraderie and congratulations, in the style he had seen men do. It hurt. “Carry on battling,” he said, toothsome and happy.

“Keep the medal,” Gabriel added, nodding, still seeming to be in a hurry.

“But I don’t understand --” it was too late, he was already alone again in the bookshop.

That had been the first, and only, time Aziraphale had been asked to return to Head Office.

\--

As it was, and as Aziraphale saw it, there were few Principalities who could understand and undertake his role. There were thousands of Principalities, of course, and some of them had worse assignments than he - though not many as there had been. In fact, he remembered when the Welsh nation had needed four and when his own faction had at least thirty. Those were dark times, of course, and as far as he could tell, there always would be dark times for his Chosen. 

After the events of The Garden, after Aziraphale and the other Cherubim had “locked it up for the eternity”, they were given assignments of different factions of people. The initial four of the gates had been given theirs first as they were already on Earth, after all, and while there weren’t MANY people that meant there didn’t have to be many Principalities. At least at first. So, the Guardian of the North Gate had been assigned to be the Dominion of the Principality of Women; Guardian of the South Gate had been assigned to be the Dominion of the Principality of Men; Guardian of the West Gate had been assigned to be the Dominion of the Principality of Children; and Aziraphale, as the Guard of the Eastern Gate, had been assigned **_to_** **_be the_** Principality of Honest Love (all love that is felt, particularly the deep abiding love that time nor distance can remove - the kind of love that stains the woven cloth of your life forever hence). 

Over time, this designation has become more and more specific as there were more Principalities to compensate for there being more people and more awareness of other kinds of love that can be shared. As Aziraphale had heard it, his fellow Guardians of the Gates had done very well for themselves and moved past Earthly things - with the Guardian of the North, in particular, becoming a Throne no less. (This, as most things with Heaven, was nothing more than a rumor. After a particularly.. Let’s say difficult time.. The Dominion of Women hoisted the mantle of an additional faction of people - those who thought of themselves as neither member of the human-invented binary of male, female - and brought on additional principalities. Essentially, they increased their caseload and their amount of prayers, inspiring those who were not of her faction to be more patient with their own work share. They truly are quite an amazing Being.)

Aziraphale, as it happened, had been reassigned a few times as human sexuality fashions had taken shape, so it really wasn’t until he was about 500 years long on this Earth that he had a specific group of people. As it was during this time that he became familiar with a Principality of Romantic Love - a lovely androgynous-presenting being who, like Aziraphale, was lucky enough to be able to hide their golden mark under their clothes. They had recently been reassigned from being the Principality of Lost Children - a heartbreaking assignation that had a high turnover rate - and were eager to share angelic gossip with him and tricks of their trade. 

While Aziraphale’s kind of love was not necessarily romantic, it was difficult to not share in their effusive excitement over new love and loves rekindled. Whereas the previous Principality of Romantic Love had been relatively inattentive and visited upon arranged marriages and other sorts with slow, meandering paces while diving headfirst into affairs of the heart - considered forbidden love, the new Principality seemed to take to their work with vivacity that was infectious. They spread love wherever they felt it was most needed, sometimes to dire consequences. Aziraphale, who had always delighted in humanity and their wonders, finally had a friend on Earth that was not Crowley. And though they didn’t spend a lot of time together, Aziraphale felt they had learned a lot from them - how to think about consequences, for one, and also a sort of malicious compliance to whatever the Almighty had decided to relegate to them. “Almighty” being used quite loosely here, as it was all a giant game of telephone - God told Metatron, Metatron then told the Seraphim, the Seraphim then told the next ranks lower, and so on and so forth until one of the second sphere of influencers - often a Dominion - would then deign to travel to Earth to relay the message to a Principality of what sort of Miracle or Inspiration they would be performing. With angels of love, Miracles were often code for creating that ineffable moment when two people realized they loved another. With Aziraphale in particular, it was his duty to oversee Persecuted True Love. So, at one point, this meant that Protestants and Catholics who fell in love landed under his jurisdiction - at another time, those who had different colored skin from one another became part of his fold. He still felt the pull and warmth of Honest Love - that love a person can have for a place, thing, what-have-you that defines a person in a way. The pure, honest love one can have for the first snow of winter, for example, or the feeling of being cozy next to a fire with a good book and hot chocolate, or that rush of cool ocean water on a hot day. Or, even the love one can have for a particular car they’ve had since the 1920s, or a band since the 1970s, or the plants in their flat that they pretend to despise. If they didn’t love them, after all, they wouldn’t have them. Actually, now that Aziraphale thought about it, all that greenery did remind him a little bit of The Garden and he wondered vaguely if Crowley would turn into a snake to wrap around a rubber plant once in a while. 

Regardless, Aziraphale could feel love - all kinds of love - but deep, abiding love was his personal speciality. It was the love he felt for all humanity, but he did have a special place in his heart for those who flocked to them. 

That is, of course, of those who shared a love that was queer. Now, there were all sorts of sexual identities these days, where in previous generations it simply had been accepted as a form of affection, so Aziraphale was quite out of sorts when it came to the dispensation and discernment of all the newfangled sexualities that had come around to be named since the last three hundred years or so. His love was the love of Sappho (poet, lyricist, lover of peaches), the love of Oscar Wilde (a deliciously weird, if rude, chap), the love of Freddie Mercury (he had known him once, in a recording booth, during his last days - Aziraphale had watched, star struck, as a very weak and weary Mercury had stood up to the mic and belted out the last few notes of his life). It was the love that daren’t speak its name, the love between two brethren of God in the Middle Ages, the love of Julie d’Aubigny (such a clever woman! He daren’t take his eyes off her, lest he lose his purse and part of his heart).

Where some said it was forbidden, he only thought it was wrongly persecuted, but he kept his tongue. He knew the pain of loving someone society had the audacity to pressure you into avoiding. He knew poets in ancient Greece who spurned the “wiles of women”, he knew seamstresses in 1930s Berlin who managed to flee before the gestapo arrived. 

Berlin had not been kind to him - though it had, at first. As Christopher Isherwood had said, “Berlin meant boys.” For quite a few years after Crowley decided to nap, Aziraphale had made his home in Germany* (with runs, of course, to different sections of Europe - mostly what is known as the UK is his jurisdiction, but if one is close to Italy, why not travel to Naples) and made friends with Dr. Magnus Hirschfeld around 1920. Since 1897, Hirschfeld had run the Scientific Humanitarian Committe, which had campaigned for tolerance and queer rights. The Committee published journals and built a unique library on same-sex love and eroticism. There were days that Aziraphale scarcely left that library, entwined in some book or another, allowing himself to indulge on words that were fairly dripping with deep love and devotion.

Dr. Hirschfeld, emboldened by his research, worked with Berlin’s police department to curtail arrest of those who dressed “opposite sex”, including those who were suspected of wearing certain clothing connected with sex work - this was done through transvestite passes issued on behalf of the Institute to those who had a personal desire to wear clothing associated with a gender other than one assigned at birth. Dr. Hirschfeld, hiself, had coined the term transsexualism, and transgender people were on the staff at the Institute as well as being amongst the clientele. Various surgical services were offered, including but not limited to the first modern gender affirmation surgeries. Of course, these terms are outdated, now, but at the time they were considered the height of cutting-edge research and very controversial - for even suggesting people who didn’t fit the binary existed.

The rise of the Nazi party (though they weren’t called that back then) was their downfall and with the sweet, comes the sour. The Nazi book burnings (the first tremors of many atrocities) in Berlin included the Institute’s archives. After they gained control of the government, the censorship brigades burned the books and the documents - including Hirschfeld’s own pioneering research into same-sex attraction and transgender persons. 

As they purged the clubs, outlawed sex-related publications, and dismantled organized gay groups, Aziraphale saved who he could. In May, 1933, Aziraphale stood in the crowd as Nazis burned the library and archives of the Institute on the street. Some young men peed on the ashes. The loss was incalculable. They say it was some 20,000 books, 5,000 images - but the research  _ alone _ was priceless. Aziraphale stood, alone, tears drying on his cheeks, as the pages flittered and the fire blazed and Joseph Goebbels himself gave a political speech about how this was a great day for Germany. Before Aziraphale knew it, books writen by Jewish writers and pacifists were removed from the university and local public libraries and also burned. 

Aziraphale was stunned. He’s an angel of love and light, and there was none to be found on the streets of Berlin, then, only whispers from the houses and he had no desire to stay any longer. But he did. He drank heavily and he got out whoever he could. He heard no word from Above where he was supposed to go, if he was even doing what was right, and so he stayed, because he could not leave them, not yet. He watched as Adolf Brand tried to fight for  _ months _ after the book burnings, but even he gave up after five months. In November 1933, Brand announced a formal end of the organized homosexual emancipation movement within Germany.

Eight months after that, Hitler ordered a purge of gay men within the ranks of the SA wing of the Nazis - slaughtering them in the Night of the Long Knives, aka Operation Hummingbird. From June 30 to July 1934, Hitler ordered a series of political executions intended to solidify his hold of power in Germany. The propaganda would later claim this was a preventative measure against an alleged coup by the SA. At least 85 people died during the purge, but the death toll was estimated in the hundreds with the high estimates around 1,000. They weren’t all queer persons, some were political rivals or extremists - but as most of their personal records were eliminated, too, we will never know the true extent of Operation Hummingbird. This was quickly followed up with stricter laws against homosexuality and the subsequent round-up of gay men. Address lists seized from the Institute are believed to have aided Hitler in his relentless crusade. Tens of thousands of arrestees found themselves in slave labour or death camps. 

When they came for Aziraphale, however, all they found was an empty flat and a hot cup of honeyed tea.

\---

As it was, in 1800, Crowley was there the day before the grand opening of the bookshop. “A. Z. FELL BOOKSTORE”. With the red paint,the gold lettering, Aziraphale was certain this was it. This is what would convince Crowley of his affections without him having to say a word. If he denied this, then it was certain he felt nothing but familiarity for Aziraphale and he could get on with their friendship without hoping for more. He couldn’t have made it more obvious. An Angel calling themselves Fell. It was too perfect. The gold and the red - just like them. It couldn’t possibly fail.

Everyone else would assume it’s the Anglo-Saxon pronunciation of Aziraphale’s name - what they don’t know is the fallen angel he has an Arrangement with and has for the last 700 years or so. The fallen angel he’s been just… beside.. For the whole 6000 years. Since the beginning of it all, since before anything.

“Oh, that’s just like your name, innit?” Crowley said, mouth working around a particularly chewy nougat. “All official-like. Looks real good, angel, you should be proud.”

“Right,” said Aziraphale, not at all watery or disappointed, stuffing another chocolate into his mouth and not tasting anything as he took a rather large gulp of wine, “that’s exactly it.”


End file.
